Kiss of death

CHAPTER SEVEN

TYLER GUIDED HOLLY out of Croce’s. Even though it was half past two and the club had announced the last call over thirty minutes ago, people were still hanging around. The club was dedicated to the memory of the creator of “Bad, Bad Leroy Brown,” Jim Croce. It was located in one of the renovated Victorian-style commercial buildings in the historic Gaslamp Quarter. There were hundreds of clubs, restaurants and galleries in the area. Croce’s had been among the first to open in the seventies when the city began pumping life back into the decaying area. It was still one of the most popular clubs.

“Adam came into the office today,” Tyler said as they walked back to his condo along streets lit by authentic gas lamps.

“Really?” Holly responded, in a tone he couldn’t quite read. “How is he?”

Someone who didn’t know Holly might not realize she had been crazy about Adam Hunter. Tyler had always assumed he was Adam’s best friend, but Adam hadn’t confided his reason for splitting with Holly.

Tyler had waited two agonizingly long months after Adam had left for Iraq before asking Holly out. He’d taken it slow and easy, giving her plenty of space to get over Adam. Tyler’s strategy had worked. Holly was practically living with him now. She kept a small walk-up on Coronado Island near her boutique, but she spent most nights at the condo Tyler had purchased in the Marina District that bordered the Gaslamp Quarter.

“Adam seems okay physically, but he’s…different.”

“Different?”

Now Holly sounded interested. He glanced at her, but the wavering shadows from the gas lamps and her long brown hair concealed her face. Maybe it was just his imagination. Anyone would be concerned about a friend who’d nearly been killed.

“Adam’s quieter. Doesn’t joke anymore.” Tyler thought about the way Adam had behaved during lunch. “He’s pretty intense.”

“Are you going to be able to work with him?” she asked.

Now her concern seemed to be for him, and Tyler kept his smile to himself. “Good question. Adam’s still hot to go into corporate security.”

Holly didn’t comment. They walked in silence to the end of the block, where the historical area merged with the Marina District. Here eye-catching skyscrapers and luxurious condos captured the view of the bay. The area had a number of hotels, but it was also the trendy place to live downtown.

Tyler had sunk all the money he’d made from HiTech Security into his new place. After years on the police force, when he’d been barely able to make his monthly rent payment, it felt awesome to have a brand-new home overlooking the harbor. He’d let Holly decorate it, and she’d done an amazing job.

It was sleek and modern, furnished in stainless steel and beige leather several shades darker than the walls. It was masculine yet had enough touches of softness for a woman to be comfortable. After all, he planned to live here once he and Holly were married. Later, when they had children, he supposed they would buy a home in the suburbs. Their kids would need space to play. By then HiTech would be going great guns-even more stable and successful than it already was-and he would be able to afford anyplace Holly wanted.

“Did you explain to Adam that it’s too expensive to go into corporate security?” Holly asked.

“Yeah. We talked about it.” Their discussion over lunch had been strained. Tyler wasn’t sure if it was the direction the company had taken or Adam himself that had made their conversation tense. “Adam’s going to check into it and see exactly what it’ll take.”

“Then he’ll realize, the way you did, that HiTech will be more profitable providing guard services.”

“Probably,” Tyler said, although he didn’t necessarily agree. “Adam’s pretty hung up about his uncle’s death.”

“I didn’t think they were close.”

Adam must have told her, Tyler decided, the back of his neck tightening. “They weren’t really close, but-”

“Adam feels responsible. That’s the kind of guy he is.”

“I guess.”

Like most women, Holly had a lot of emotional insight. Adam had probably cut off his relationship with her in case he was killed in Iraq. Holly must have figured this out. When he’d been with Adam today, Tyler had glossed over his relationship with Holly. A year and a half ago, he’d e-mailed Adam that he was seeing Holly. He’d never mentioned her again even though he e-mailed Adam on a weekly basis. Today, he might have made a mistake by not letting Adam know how much Holly meant to him. He wondered if Adam would contact her.

The phone on his hip vibrated, and he stopped. At this hour it could only be the watch commander at his guard service. “Yeah?”

“It’s Butch. We’ve got a no-show at Ocean Heights and the backup isn’t answering his phone.”

“Christ!” Ocean Heights was a ritzy subdevelopment and one of his most lucrative accounts. Their board insisted on a twenty-four-hour guard at their gate. After midnight residents could have used a remote control to open the gate, the way residents in many other gated communities did-but no, Ocean Heights needed a “gate ambassador” all night long.

Weeknights it was easy to have college kids man the gate because they liked to study when things were slow, but on the weekend, they suddenly became “ill.” Problem was he didn’t have enough backups. If someone didn’t show, he was in trouble.

He was forced to tell Butch, “I’ll take it.” He flipped the phone shut and turned to Holly. “I’ve gotta go, babe. One of the guards didn’t come in, and we can’t leave the gate at Ocean Heights uncovered.”

“Can’t you hire more backup guys?”

She sounded a little peeved. He couldn’t blame her. This was the third Saturday night that he’d skipped out on her. “It’s hard to find guys willing to be on standby all weekend, not knowing if they’re going to get called.”

“What if you paid them to wait around?”

Sometimes Holly was way too insightful. To make more money, Tyler kept guys on standby, but didn’t pay them unless they worked. “I may have to do that or go to a sub-par list.”

“What’s that?”

“Hire guys who can’t pass a background check.” If a man had an arrest record for even a minor crime like petty theft or a DUI, he couldn’t pass the check. Gated communities were suspicious of anyone with any type of a criminal record. “Wait at my place until I get off.”

Holly shook her head. “I’m going home. The boutique’s big sale starts tomorrow.”

“Okay.” He’d be dead tired anyway. The shift wouldn’t be over until seven. He’d need to crash for a few hours, then head into the office. “I’ll call you tomorrow afternoon and see how the sale is going.”

She was silent while he walked her to her Passat. Sometimes it was hard to tell what Holly was thinking. She wasn’t as open with him as his previous girlfriends. The slight air of mystery added to her appeal.

She drove off, and he stood there for a moment, thinking. He hadn’t asked Holly to marry him, but they discussed the future as if they intended to spend it together. Now Tyler had the vague feeling that he knew too little about Holly’s actual plans.

He drove to Ocean Heights and called Butch on his cell phone. Butch was a beefy Irishman who would develop a Sumo stomach if he didn’t spend his days in the gym.

“I’m sick of this shit,” Tyler told him.

“I hear you, man.”

“Know of any guys who might be a little shaky on a background check but are actually okay to work standby for us? I’ll pay them to be on call.”

Butch said he would check at his gym. Tyler hung up and drove around the bend to the mammoth wrought-iron gate at the entrance to Ocean Heights. Beyond the guard kiosk that would have been home to several families in a third world country were brand-new Tuscan-style mansions built on lots the size of a cocktail napkin. The guard on duty was pissed because he’d had to work over an hour beyond his shift.

Tyler settled in, put his feet up and wished he had thought to pick up a magazine. Nothing was more boring than the graveyard shift. His cell phone buzzed. “What the hell,” he said out loud. It was almost three-thirty in the morning. He checked the caller ID. Oh, fuck! His father.

Quinten Foley had been a commander in the navy. They’d lived all over the world until his father retired. His father had prodded Tyler to enlist, but Tyler joined the police force instead. He was a major disappointment to his father. Quinten Foley never mentioned it, but Tyler couldn’t shake the feeling.

He hadn’t heard from the old man in months. A call now must mean bad news-his father only checked in a few times a year and never in the middle of the night. This wouldn’t be about his family. Tyler was an only child. His mother had committed suicide when Tyler was in high school. There wasn’t anyone else except distant relatives somewhere in New England.

Tyler forced himself to keep his voice upbeat. “You’re back in town.”

“No. I’m on the Gulfstream, heading in.”

His father worked as a consultant for weapons manufacturers and helped smaller countries decide what to buy, then expedited those purchases. He often supplied soldiers of fortune with the latest weaponry. His clients had to be extremely wealthy to afford his services. He never failed to let Tyler know he was in a limo or on a fancy jet. It was just another way of reminding Tyler that his own father was out of his league.

“Did I wake you?”

“Nah. Holly and I were out late hitting the clubs.” No way was he going to confess to his father he was sitting on his ass in a guard shack.

“Meet me for breakfast at eight at the Outpost.” It wasn’t a request. It was an order to appear at a trendy restaurant frequented by retired naval officers on their way to the golf course.

“What’s going on?”

“We need to discuss something.”

Tyler knew that was all he was going to get out of his father until they were face-to-face. Years of working in naval intelligence and weapons had made him frickin’ paranoid about what he said over a cell phone. Tyler seriously doubted any spies were monitoring his father’s calls but the old man always acted as if his every word, every move was being scrutinized by “foreign operatives.”

Tyler hung up and stared out into the darkness. Quinten Foley was rarely interested in his opinion. Could his father want to talk about his will? The old man was in his early fifties, an appropriate time to consider discussing his future with his only child.

TYLER CONVINCED THE MORNING-shift guard to come in an hour early so he could get home, shower and shave before meeting his father. His old man treated him with a little more respect now that he’d been able to purchase a condo.

His father probably wanted to discuss his wishes should he become ill as well as his finances. Tyler couldn’t bank a smile. Quinten Foley seemed immortal, but, of course, no one was. Tyler had no idea how much his father was worth. It didn’t matter. He’d suffered enough to deserve every penny he’d inherit.

He drove into the lot of the Shelter Island restaurant. As usual there were several rows of late-model American cars. Buying American had been an unwritten rule for the naval officers of his father’s generation. Tyler parked his Beamer next to his father’s black Hummer-not an H2 or H3 model but the original Hummer the military had used.

The Outpost was some decorator’s attempt at a hunting lodge. Animal skins were nailed to the log walls in the entry, where a hostess in a safari outfit seated people. One wall of the huge room was a fieldstone fireplace bracketed by tree trunks twenty feet tall. Opposite it a soaring glass wall faced the bay. In the distance the Naval Air Station on Coronado Island glistened in the too-bright morning sun.

This was a great vantage point for the retirees to watch the Navy SEALs train while they ate. His father was already seated at the prime booth by the window. When Quinten gave you a time, he arrived at least ten minutes early himself.

“How was your trip?” Tyler asked as he slid into the booth opposite his father.

“Same old, same old.”

Tall and erect, Quinten Foley had a military bearing that was impossible to miss even in golf clothes. His square jaw told the world he was accustomed to his orders being obeyed. His slate-blue eyes could level a man at fifty paces. His full head of black hair had turned silver, but it only added to his commanding presence.

“I ordered huevos rancheros for you. I know how much you like them.”

Tyler didn’t even attempt a smile. He’d been an eggs Benedict man-until Holly reformed him. He’d never cared for huevos rancheros.

“I have to be on the course at eight-thirty.” His father smiled. “Hope all my traveling hasn’t screwed up my handicap.”

Tyler nodded as if he gave a shit.

“I hear Calvin Hunter died while I was away.”

Adam’s uncle and his father had both been navy commanders. Calvin had skippered a nuclear sub before moving to some top-secret naval intelligence position on land. The men had been golfing buddies when they both were in San Diego at the same time.

“He died of a heart attack.”

“Too bad. Wish I could have returned for the funeral, but I was in Zimbabwe negotiating a deal for a client.”

“Adam couldn’t get back either,” Tyler commented as their waitress poured him a cup of coffee. “He just returned. His uncle left him everything, including a mountain of debt.”

His father’s ice-blue eyes narrowed. “Calvin didn’t have any debt to speak of. He made a lot of money.”

“Showing dogs?”

A beat of silence. “No, in real estate.”

Tyler thought a moment. “Maybe. They’re just sorting through the estate. Adam doesn’t know much. He wasn’t close to his uncle. In fact, he was blown away that he left him everything.”

“Everything?” His father actually looked stunned. The only other time Tyler could remember seeing that expression was when his father had come home to find the MPs, and his wife dead. Tyler had been huddled in the corner with the chaplain, but his father never saw him.

The waitress arrived with a heaping plate of huevos rancheros for Tyler and put scrambled eggs, tomatoes instead of potatoes, in front of his father. To the side was a single slice of toast. The old man wouldn’t butter it.

“I was wondering if you could do something for me.”

“Sure.” Tyler ran his fork through the gooey mess and waited for the “if I should become ill” bit.

“I was in Istanbul last year and ran into Calvin. My laptop was on the fritz. Damn things aren’t reliable. I stored some info on Calvin’s machine. Now that he’s gone, I need to retrieve that file. Could you ask Adam to let me into Calvin’s office? I’d call him myself but I only met him the one time.”

How well Tyler remembered that day. They’d graduated from the police academy together. Adam’s father was there-so, so proud. He’d been with Adam’s uncle Calvin, who’d also been very proud of Adam. Quinten Foley had grudgingly attended, then left before the group went to celebrate at a nearby Mexican restaurant.

“No need to bother Adam,” Tyler said, recalling his conversation at lunch with Adam yesterday. “Right after Calvin Hunter died, thieves broke into the house. All they took was his computer and some discs.”

“You’re lying.”

Tyler slammed down his fork, anger building in his gut. His father had insulted him many times over the years but he’d never called him a liar. He shot back, “Why would I lie about a robbery?”

Quinten Foley flinched at Tyler’s unexpected outburst. He’d never raised his voice to his father. “Sorry, son. I just can’t believe…”

“As an ex-police officer, I can tell you that robberies after a death are quite common, especially if the newspapers give the time of the funeral. Criminals know everyone will be at the cemetery and not at the house.”

“I see,” his father replied, his tone preoccupied.

“The thieves left behind lots of valuable antiques and other things. That means they were after stuff they could sell quickly for drug money. Newer model computers can be sold in minutes on the street.”

All the color leached from his father’s face. His voice faltered. “R-really?”

“Swear to God.” He could have added “hope to die,” but he didn’t allow himself the pleasure. Until last night he hadn’t thought about his father’s death. But one day-in the not too distant future-his father would die. Then, like Adam, Tyler would inherit a bundle.